


Pause

by cowboyguy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sick Character, Sick Dean Winchester, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 07:47:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10635435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboyguy/pseuds/cowboyguy
Summary: Dean's got a cold and he's really out of it. Isn't that right, Dean? ...Dean? Hello?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [tarotgal's 2017 sneezefic meme](http://tarotgal.livejournal.com/1066941.html).

“Dean?”

…

“Dean?”

…

“Dean!” Sam waves a hand in front of his brother’s face, and Dean startles, looking at his brother with a baffled expression on his face.

“Huh, what?” he mumbles, sniffling and bringing a hand up to rub at his nose.

“Put that in the basket,” Sam replies, nudging Dean’s elbow with the grocery basket he’s carrying, already halfway full with cans of soup, a multi-pack of ginger ale, and a giant bag of cough drops. Picking up the five-pack of Kleenex boxes, Sam tucks it back under his arm, trying not to drop the bulky package. In hindsight, he probably should have picked that up last. He nudges Dean expectantly again, repeating, “Put the cold medicine in the basket, dude.”

Dean mutely complies, tossing the little cardboard box into the basket before he twists away with a barely-covered, _“HRRSHHHuh! UHHSHHHH!”_ He stays hunched over for a moment, face pressed into the sleeve of his jacket, before he sniffles wetly and straightens back up. “We done yet?” he asks Sam, looking even more drained than before.

“Almost,” Sam reassures him, gently herding him in the direction of the painkillers. They need to get out of this store quickly, before Dean decides it would just be easier to take a nap in the middle of the aisle. Sam continues to offer reassurances as Dean trudges along in front of him, prompting his brother to grab a bottle of Advil and a thermometer before he guides them in the direction of the front of the store.

There’s a line of three people and only one cashier at the registers when they reach the front, and Sam can’t help but let out a frustrated sigh. He glances over at Dean, who’s standing in front of a magazine display, swaying a little and staring blankly at the covers. Dean sniffs and rubs at his nose again, and Sam remembers the handkerchief.

“Dean,” he says, waiting until Dean wearily glances up at him. “There’s a hankie in your pocket.”

Dean blinks at him, sniffs again. It sounds like it hurts. “Huh?” he answers.

“In your jacket pocket.” Hands still full, Sam tilts his head to indicate Dean’s right side. “There’s a handkerchief in your jacket pocket. Use that.”

Slowly reaching into his pocket, Dean pulls out the square of white fabric, holding it in his hand and staring at it for a moment as if he’s expecting it to come with an instruction book. Then instinct must kick in as he sniffs again and presses the hankie to his runny nose.

Ahead of them, the line inches forward and Sam takes a couple of steps forward, turning back to see Dean still frozen by the magazine rack.

“Dude,” he calls, rolling his eyes impatiently as a woman comes around the corner with her cart only to be blocked by his dazed, semi-conscious, walking germ of a brother. “Dean, come here.” When Dean makes no attempt to move, Sam sets the Kleenex pack on the floor and hurries over to pull Dean aside, giving the woman an apologetic look. “Sorry, he’s a little out of it.”

He nudges his brother forward, not wanting to lose their place in line, and indicates the plastic-wrapped stack of Kleenex boxes still standing where he’d left them.

“Pick that up, okay?” he asks, and Dean quietly picks up the box, hugging it awkwardly to his chest. He clears his throat and coughs, and Sam winces as Dean makes no attempt to cover his mouth.

“Sam…” Dean mumbles, sounding a little raspy.

“Yeah, Dean?” Sam answers.

“I wanna go home…” He blinks tiredly, chin resting against the Kleenex boxes.

“I know, man,” Sam answers sympathetically. “Couple more minutes and we’ll be back in the car, okay?”

Dean nods and sniffs — (“Hankie,” Sam prompts) — and shifts uncomfortably back and forth as they wait until finally, _finally_ , the line moves forward and they’re at the front. Sam dumps all of their stuff on the counter, gently prying the box out of Dean’s grasp, and digs his wallet out of his back pocket to pay. After the cashier rings them up, he grabs the bags with one hand, the Kleenex with another, and nudges Dean forward with his forearm. “C’mon, we’re done,” he explains, directing his brother towards the automatic doors. Dean heads out to the parking lot as Sam fumbles for his keys, and when he looks up, Dean is standing in front of the driver’s side door, digging in his pockets with one hand and staring in confusion at the handkerchief he’s still clutching in the other.

“Where’s m’keys…” he mumbles quietly.

“You’re too sick to drive. Let me, okay? Can you get into the passenger side instead?” Sam points to the other side of the car, just in case Dean’s forgotten exactly how to get there.

Dean sighs tiredly and responds, “Yeah, that…. ‘Smaybe a good idea…” He turns and trudges around the back of the car towards the other door, letting loose a couple of congested-sounding sneezes on his way. _“HGNTSHHHUH! HHRSHHH!”_ Belatedly, he reaches up with the handkerchief to swipe at his nose, pulling open the car door and dropping down heavily into the seat.

Sam climbs in, too, setting the bags and the Kleenex on the bench seat between them. He shuts the door and turns on the ignition, turning up the cool breeze coming from the air vents. He’s pretty sure Dean’s got a fever, and the hot Georgia sun beating down on the car isn’t helping much. He reaches over to the cooler in the backseat, digging out a bottle of water and untwisting the cap before he hands it over to his brother. Dean takes a careful sip, and Sam notices the way he grimaces a little when he swallows.

“Here, take this,” Sam directs him, opening the cold medicine box and popping a pill out of the blister pack. He waits until Dean holds out his hand before depositing it into his brother’s open palm. With only a little prompting, Dean obediently swallows the pill, chasing it down with another gulp of water. “That should kick in soon, hopefully help you feel a little better.”

Dean nods, coughing into a closed fist as he settles back into the seat, head leaning against the window. He only has a moment to relax, though, as he suddenly lurches forward with another intense sneeze. _“AHH’HTCHHUH!”_ He sniffs desperately, covering his nose with one hand and scrambling for the tissues with the other. Sam dutifully rips open the box top and hands a couple of tissues over to his brother, which Dean takes with a muffled “Thagks,” before he buries his nose in them and blows congestedly.

Sam waits until Dean has gotten his nose at least somewhat under control and then leans over and helps Dean with the clasp on his seat belt. “You ready to go?” he asks.

Dean shakes his head. “No more hunts, man, I’m… I think I’m sick…” he responds, trailing off as he reaches a hand up, kneading his knuckles against his forehead with a wince of pain.

“I know you’re sick. No more hunts,” Sam promises. “Just try to get some sleep, okay? I’m gonna find us a hotel somewhere.” Checking his mirrors, Sam pulls out of the parking lot and eases them back onto the main road, glancing over at his miserable brother in the passenger seat.

Dean lets his head thump back against the window. “Good plan…” he murmurs.


End file.
